


On a Wing and a Prayer

by SectoBoss



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Astronauts, Gen, International Space Station, Year 0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SectoBoss/pseuds/SectoBoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the fiftieth anniversary of the new world, as part of its special commemorative edition, Iceland’s Morgunblaðið newspaper presents the final words of the last astronauts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Wing and a Prayer

** On a Wing and a Prayer – the Last Words of the Last Astronauts  **

_By Commander David Cartwright (retired) and translated by Jakob Kristiansson, special correspondent_

_For the Morgunblaðið 50 th anniversary commemorative edition_

_This piece is a reproduction of the message the six ISS astronauts carried with them in their Soyuz descent modules on the morning of Year 0, Day 126, as they departed the International Space Station for the last time. The message was sealed inside an armoured canister that was designed to withstand the impact of a fatal crash-landing, and was intended by the astronauts to be their last words in the likely event of catastrophe. This is the first time this message has been released to the general public.  
_

_Aside from the necessary translation from English to Icelandic, the text is unaltered._

 

We have done all we are able to, and the time has come for us to make a decision.

For four months now, we have watched the world below us collapse. We have witnessed the great cities go dark one by one. We have heard the last transmissions, first from governments, then from armies, and finally from what we can only call survivors. We have rendered what pitifully little assistance we are able to, using the communications equipment of the ISS to relay messages around the world in place of the failing satellite networks. But there are no more messages being sent.

The human race is falling, and we have been given front-row seats. Now, it is time for us too to fall.

The decision has been made, and it has been made unanimously. Tomorrow morning we return home, to share the fate of humanity or to die trying.

To the best of our knowledge the nation of Iceland has alone survived unscathed, and it is to this tiny, frozen island that we will attempt to direct our re-entry modules. We have no mission control to guide us. Our descent calculations are mere approximations. And the mechanics of such a maneuverer are unforgiving at best. We are under no illusions. We know the risk we are about to take. We do not expect to survive.

But we go anyway, for there is the slim chance we will succeed. The slim chance that, having exhausted our usefulness in the heavens, we may yet return to the ground and find some new purpose in a brave new world.

Tomorrow morning, two streaks of fire will split the Arctic skies. The capsules _Daedalus_ and _Icarus_ , renamed to reflect the nature of our journey. The last of Earth’s children are coming back.

To list ranks and nationalities now seems petty. Should our re-entry fail, our corpses certainly will not be easily distinguishable from one another. So we would be remembered simply as six humans, six ordinary people, who heard the call of their species in its darkest hour and did what little they could to help:

David Cartwright

Vera Ivankova

Henry Mokaya

Rajani Sripada

Shiro Kurosawa

Alexander Jensen

“Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

 

 

_Upon being contacted by the Morgunblaðið for an article upon the famous descent of the Last Astronauts, Commander Cartwright replied with the original copy of the message printed above. Included in his letter, sent just two months before his passing, were the following words:_

 

 

You have asked me for a story about the famous ‘Flight of the Last Astronauts’. Well, that story has been told many times before, and by storytellers far better than myself. I doubt I have much more to add to it at this late hour.

That said, perhaps there is one thing that I ought to say. I have noticed a concerning trend in recent years for our story, and the stories of many other ‘heroes’ (not my word) of Year 0, to be appropriated for political purposes. I have heard it said that my five comrades and I returned not out of a sense of duty. Nor even, and more accurately in my opinion, out of a sense of desperation. Instead we are portrayed as the last relics of the old world, realising the blasphemous folly of the societies and the creeds that put us amongst the stars, and coming back to assume our rightful place: on Earth, under the heel of the gods.

So I will say simply this.

I am the last of my kind in more ways than one. I am the last American, for a start. I grew up surrounded by technology children of the new world cannot even dream of, I went to school and university in towns and cities that have long since died. I joined an army that has lost its last battle. I flew machines that some people today refuse to believe even existed. That burden weighs heavily upon me, but nowhere near as heavy as the other.

For I am the last astronaut. Six fell from the sky that winter’s dawn and by a miracle we all saw the dusk. But old age and time have claimed all but one of us, and I know that I must soon follow in the footsteps of my friends. I do not fear my death – falling headlong into the end of the world will cure you of that fear splendidly, I think. But I do fear that when I die, some small piece of the old world will be extinguished. A piece that looked at the boundaries of its world and saw challenges to overcome, not bars on a cage. It is an introspective world we live in now, fifty years after the Rash. Humanity seems to have rather lost its appetite for the unknown.

That said, even old age cannot completely cure me of my optimism. Deep down, I remain confident that our spark for adventure will be rekindled. Regardless of when, I believe I can rest assured that one day the time for exploration will surely come again.

In the meantime, I will be waiting, in that faraway place above us where the blue skies turn black.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, they all made it back safe and sound. Sometimes even I want there to be a happy ending...


End file.
